


Every Rose Has A Thorn

by RoseAmaranth



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Drinking to Cope, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Miz is like a mother hen, Mizler, Mizler is my Angst Pairing, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Secret Crush, Unrequited Love, Why Did I Write This?, sad hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 11:28:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20488157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseAmaranth/pseuds/RoseAmaranth
Summary: As with everything in his life, it starts in the middle of a wrestling ring.





	Every Rose Has A Thorn

**Author's Note:**

> So, I can't ever seem to write and post these things when the inspiration takes place, so then they seem almost random. Anyway, that whole segment with Shawn Michaels, The Miz, and Dolph Ziggler on RAW (I believe?) had me feeling some kind of way. Here's what came of that! :D

Dolph stared down at the man cupping his jaw and focused on not losing his composure in front of thousands of eyes watching him – not to mention the millions around the world – and observing his every move; every facial expression. Everything had to be articulated with care, but it was difficult doing so when he was watching someone he cared about check for blood after he maybe kind of punched them in the face. Michaels, also in the ring with them, was simply waiting on him to do something, those wise blue eyes- having seen more than Dolgh could ever dream of- glowing sympathetically.

Dolph maybe wanted to nail a knuckle or two on him just for that. He was not one who needed to be pitied. He didn't need – nor did he even want – anyone's sympathy. So what if he hit Mike in the face with his actual knuckles; not even a couple years back Mike did the exact same thing to him. They simply laughed it off afterward, Dolph promising a potato or two next time they met in the ring.

(He hadn't really meant it...)

Anyway, knowing it wasn't a big deal didn't really ease the way his stomach twisted and tightened uncomfortably as he finally turned away from where Mike was now glaring up at him, still cupping his jaw as Shawn checked with him. Sometimes, the storylines they were given could be fun and interesting for the superstars; other times, they were kind of like a knife being pushed into his back with the intent to sever and destroy. They could hit close to home, and they even involved much of their actual personal lives. Dolph was, of course, ever the professional, but he was also human.

Humans slipped. They made mistakes. They had feelings and desires of their own. Dolph was flawless in the ring, but as a human? As a man of flesh and bone and with a bleeding heart? Well, it was better not to think about it.

So, yeah, it didn't have to mean anything. Accidents happened. Positions were off, causing fists to make contact and bruises to form. Mishaps happened all the time. People were legit dropped, kicked, or punched more often than people may think. Yet, he couldn't shake the cold stones settling in his stomach, or the way his throat closed and tears prickled in his eyes the longer he watched the scene unfold. His show business brain told him this was making fantastic television, that their storyline was holding that emotional element people craved in their programming, and that was all any of them could really ask for, but why did he have to sacrifice so much of himself for strangers who couldn't give two shits about the real people in the ring?

After super-kicking Michaels and having Mike chase him from the ring before comforting a crestfallen wrestling legend (and a personal hero of Dolph's, which kind of made the moment cooler, save for the....unfortunate happenings), he scurried up the ramp, trying to control his expressions for the close up camera shots (he was going for slightly deranged, but he wasn't sure it was coming across). The weight in his stomach was only compounded the longer he looked on, the longer he met fiery blue eyes and a firm jaw. Fantastic television. 

Fantastic television.

Fantastic fucking television.

He loved his job. He cherished every high and every single one of his many lows – all the times he got to lace his boots up and roll around the ring like he dreamed of since he was old enough to speak – but sometimes he wished it didn't have to be so emotionally and mentally draining. The taxing effect on his already pretty frazzled emotions was eating at him after nearly fourteen years in the biggest company in the world. The wrestling monopoly. He shook off the thoughts and pushed backstage, ignoring all the people looking to congratulate him on a _stunning and emotionally-driven performance_. It was a compliment he heard many times before, especially when working with someone he was close with (like Mike), and usually it was a perfect little ego boost to cap his night off with, but tonight he was just tired and worn out.

He could not wait to get out of there and fall into his hotel bed.

Punching his best friend in the face on television wasn't a big deal. It wasn't. He knew that. And considering it was perfect for their story, he should be happy it happened that way. Yet, none of that logic and reassurance was making him feel any better. In fact, he felt worse. 

“Hey, great job out there! I think you nearly dislocated my jaw with that swing.” The familiar voice made him flinch, though he tried to hide it, and the clear joy and pride emanating from the man grated on his emotions. The emotions he was working on burying. Again. Always burying.

Always pretending.

Gosh, it was exhausting.

He turned and offered his stage smile to Mike, muscle memory movement that would have been convincing to anyone else. But, of course, Mike knew him better than that. He was a goof, an idiot for the camera, but Mike was one of the more intelligent people backstage. He was great at reading people, which made him the excellent performer he was. It also meant, with someone he was close to (like Dolph), faking it was not going to work. 

Nope. Mike saw right through him.

“What's wrong?” Dolph was certainly at no place to have that conversation, not that he probably ever would be, so he only shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. Hopefully, that would keep Mike from being able to read his eyes the way he was prone to doing.

“I'm just really tired, you know? I've been spreading myself pretty thin here lately. Always keeping busy with wrestling and comedy and filming fun projects.” When he was confident enough to meet the man's eyes again, they were narrowed and Mike was frowning.

“If something is bothering you, you know I'm here. Seriously. I even promise to keep my comments to myself.” And everyone knew how hard that could be for him. It was one of his less desirable qualities, but he was unapologetically himself with everyone. Mike brought a baggie of ice to his jaw and smiled, one of those real ones that made it all the way to his eyes and shone like the sun at midnight. One Dolph saw often because Mike was a ball of sunshine when he wasn't being a total asshole.

That was one of his best qualities. He never let life get to him, and he always seemed to be having a good time.

“Yeah. Of course. Really, it's nothing a good night's sleep can't fix, though. I'm good.” That, and maybe a bottle of something bitter and strong to wash down the acrid words clawing their way up his throat at the moment; words that lived on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be spit out at a moment's notice, for years. Nearly thirteen years of fighting them back, of keeping himself in check and putting his best face forward, and it just never seemed to get easier. Not with distractions. Not with numbing. Certainly not with spilling acid on them. 

He tried, oh how he _tried_, to drown the feelings he knew he couldn't – shouldn't – have, but they just refused to die. Not when the light in Mike's eyes and the sparkling smile resurrected them each and every time.

“Well, okay. Drive safe, okay? I'll check in with you once I'm able to get out of this place. You know how Maryse can be when she's with the girls again.” Ah yes, the biggest reason why Dolph needed to continue the fight against those pesky little feelings bouncing around his chest. _Maryse Mizanin_. The wife. The mother. The gorgeous and hilarious better half of Mike Mizanin. Not to mention she was also Dolph's friend, someone he cared a lot about before this mess of conflicting emotions and petty jealousy. She was quite the force to be reckoned with, and Mike seemed to love her to pieces. That was enough to keep him fighting.

Always fighting.

Yep, this was definitely going to be a long night for him. How one stupid punch triggered the tidal wave of regret, bitterness, resentment, and love he wasn't sure. A drink was definitely in store. Mike seemed to be waiting on Dolph to make one of his usual quips, blue eyes flickering in concern as he seemed to examine Dolph, like he was trying to pick something out in his eyes, so Dolph shut down the flood bleeding out of that secret place and snorted.

“I'm pretty sure she says the same about you man. I'm honestly not sure which of you is worse when it comes to talking the night away. Anyway, I'll probably crash once I get to my room, so if I don't answer here's goodnight.” He would more than likely be awake for the text or call, as he normally was each night, but Mike didn't need to know that. The relief was obvious on Mike's face as he reached out and took Dolph's hand, pulling him into a tight hug and slapping his back. Dolph let himself soak it all in and sighed into the embrace.

It was just _nice_ after the night he was having.

“I mean it. If you need someone to talk to, I'm always here. You know I love you man.” The truth was, he did know. It was obvious in the way he kept after Dolph outside of work, how he supported him in everything he decided to do. The man was so willing to do anything for a friend, which was what put Dolph in the position he was in all these years. Mike was someone who gave everything he had to keep those around him as happy as he seemed to be all the time- always looking to light up someone's life.

At the moment, though, those wonderful words were strangling him. They didn't mean what Dolph wished they did, and he knew it was unfair of him to feel that way. So, despite everything in him screaming at him not to, he pulled away and stepped away from the wonderfully caring friend he loved so much he nearly hated him. It was all so twisted and unfair.

His actions had Mike studying him closely again, seemingly ready to interrogate the problem out of him, but Dolph needed to leave. So he smiled again and shoved his hands in his pockets. As if sensing the end of their conversation, Mike nodded and glanced over his shoulder.

“I'll call you, 'kay?” And then he was disappearing down the long hall, Dolph noticing belatedly that he was still shirtless but wearing a pair of sweatpants for some reason. Okay, moving on from _that_. Think about something – anything – else. Get on the road. Get out of that building. Go.

As promised, Mike called him. It wasn't even half an hour later, his car only just cooling off from the drive to the hotel he was staying in, and Dolph chuckled as he pictured Mike leaning against the wall waiting for him to pick up. No, stop it. Stop doing that. Be his friend. He didn't really want to answer, exhaustion pulling at him like a fishing line, but the picture lighting up his screen beckoned to him. He swiped the screen before he could overthink it and put it on speaker.

_"Hey, Zig. Make it safe?"_ Dolph hoisted his bag out of the boot of his car and grunted as his back protested. Sometimes, he wished he still rode with friends so he could have a little help when it came time to move his bags up to his room.

"Always. You know, you worry too much. All that worrying is going to turn your gray." A chuckle crackled through the speaker, burning into his chest. he slammed the trunk and pulled his bag along behind him.

_"I'm told so constantly. I can't really help it sometimes. Anyway, I just wanted to check in since I know you're going to sleep and I'm probably going to be here late. Maryse is still with her girls. She's showing them pictures of Monroe now."_ And, well, that stung a little, but he shoved it down like he usually did and lugged his bag into the lobby. The front desk woman smiled up at him despite the late hour, and he belatedly noticed red coloring to her cheeks. He wasn't oblivious to the effect he had on women, but it wasn't really worth much to him except the occasional break in the loneliness and his thoughts. She seemed nice, she was pretty, and clearly she liked what she saw. It was tempting...

Still, he was tired. And he learned quickly a night spent with a stranger only made him feel _worse_ in the morning. So, he focused on his conversation with Mike. Even as she batted her lashes and tried to touch his hand while taking his card.

"I'm checking in now, _mom_. Do you want to know my floor and room so you can come check on me? Make sure I get to sleep on time?" He did _not_ entertain that fantasy in his head. Nope. Mike only snorted on the other side of the phone.

_"That won't be necessary, dude. Hey, where are you staying at anyway? I'm too exhausted to drive far, and I know you picked a decent place with decent prices."_ Unlike Maryse, who wanted high-end _everything_. Which, of course, Mike gave her. Dolph smiled to the receptionist and headed for the elevator.

"This place called Sunset Inn. Apparently local. Continental breakfast. A nice looking gym. An indoor pool. You know, tomorrow is a day off for us. I just might take advantage of all that." He definitely was. After the restless sleep he was going to get, he was going to need a nice breakfast and a run on the treadmill. Mike chuckled.

_"You know what? I might have to join you. Text me the address if you don't mind."_ Dolph did just that nearly the second Mike's tired request was made. It would be nice to spend time together. Just them. After marriage and then a baby, there wasn't much 'bro time' anymore. Now he had something to look forward to in the morning. 

_"Cool. Thanks, man. I'll see you in the morning then. I think Maryse is finally ready to go. Later, man."_ Dolph returned the goodbye and dumped his bag on the bed. Originally, he wanted to relax with a beer and maybe some mindless television, but he instead decided going to sleep would benefit him better. He showered and changed into his sweats, set his alarm, and sighed into his pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what it is about this pairing that brings the angst out of me, but here it is. I hope you enjoyed it! :) xx


End file.
